


The Art of Deciding to Forget

by ohitsbo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Extended Metaphors, Have fun with this shitstorm, Implied Ace/Aro Character but it isn't too obvious, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Character Death, i sure did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:22:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7669930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohitsbo/pseuds/ohitsbo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for·get<br/>fərˈɡet/<br/>verb<br/>1. fail to remember.<br/>"he had forgotten his name"</p><p>2. inadvertently neglect to attend to, do, or mention something.<br/>"he forgot to text him"</p><p>3. put out of one's mind; cease to think of or consider.<br/>"he chose to forget about the way they used to be"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Deciding to Forget

Akaashi can’t see himself ever forgetting.

 

Not when every time he hears himself laugh or sees hands stained with paint or picks at the callouses on his fingers he’s reminded of _him_. Of them.

And in a sense forgetting was all _he_ was, so Akaashi will try to cling to that, despite his internal turmoil over whether or not to let go of at least some memories. The painful ones.

At night Akaashi will dream of him. The distant smell of smoke and morning breath, pet peeves that he had learned to accept in time for the sake of the man of his memories, the face of which is a blur in Akaashi’s head. He used to be able to picture him clearly, smile and all, but now it’s just a memory of a memory.

 

A memory of a memory of a mistake.

That’s all Akaashi is anymore.

He can tell that the people around him are nearly as annoyed by it as he is.

 

It’s hard to move on after the person who made you feel like something suddenly decides to treat you as if you were nothing.

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_‘You’re irreplaceable. I don’t know where I’d be without you. My rock, you know?’_

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Akaashi has always loved space. He can’t pinpoint an exact reason why, but maybe he’s drawn to the mystery of it. A big unknown larger than the ocean, larger than anything. In 3rd grade he was known as Short and Pudgy, always cowering in the corner of the library at his elementary school, reading book after book about sci-fi and his universe. Sixteen years later, he was drawn to a course about astronomy. And about six months after that, the class got even more interesting.

It started with a wink and a little wave from across the classroom when Akaashi found himself staring at someone he didn’t mean to. Whoever it was found it entertaining to stare back whenever they had class together from that point forward, and it was hard to resist someone with a smile like that.

Akaashi was always told that despite how attractive he appeared at surface level, he was unapproachable.

Intimidating.

But this man didn’t seem intimidated in the least.

It was a strange kind of acquaintanceship, if even that. It didn’t seem right to call him a stranger, but they never actually said a word to each other. Akaashi considered himself indifferent to their strange interactions, that is until he caught himself smiling back.

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_‘You’re an incredible walking contradiction, Keiji.’_

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Every step he takes is like walking through water. Even sunlight seems cool and dull.

 

Moving is tiring. Talking is tiring. Working is tiring. Living is tiring.

 

Kozume is concerned about him in that silent way he expresses concern for people he cares about. He knew the man because Kuroo knew the man. Kozume may have been worried about Kuroo too, but the latter gives him no reason to be. Kuroo was close to him, but he never lets himself get too attached to anything. Not on the outside at least.

 

Kuroo learned to defend himself with poker faces and empty smiles.

 

Akaashi never learned how to do any of that.

 

And maybe Kuroo does need comfort too, Akaashi thinks in passing. Maybe Kozume should give Kuroo his attention instead. Akaashi isn’t sure if he’s bitter about how close their relationship is, or if he simply doesn’t care enough.

 

(he wonders if he can be bitter)

Akaashi scrunches up his nose before taking another sip of black tea. He hates the taste, but anything to keep him from falling asleep in the middle of a lecture is absolutely necessary.

He watches a drop of water collect at the brim of a leaf before dripping onto the grass below it. Again. And again. The mumbled tone of his professor’s soporific voice relaxes him.

 

Across the lawn, he sees a boy with wild orange hair tugging on the sleeve of a taller, more collected student. He vaguely remembers them being close to the man, but nothing too serious. It’s a mystery whether or not they even know of his disappearance, but then again it would be surprising if they did.

 

He was like a thunderstorm. Stayed long enough to make himself well acknowledged. Gone fast enough to be easily forgotten.

Only catastrophic to a select few.

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_‘You’re my sun, Keiji! My own personal sun!’_

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first word Akaashi heard him speak was “fuck,” which was followed by “you’re hotter up close,” and “I probably should have stopped speaking after I said fuck.”

Akaashi laughed quietly and picked at blisters on his fingertips– a nervous habit he’d acquired within a few weeks of playing guitar.

The man rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. “This finally-approaching-the-pretty-guy-I’ve-been-aggressively-having-eye-contact-with thing didn’t start off the way I imagined it. I was planning on coming up, dazzling you with my good looks and charming personality, and then maybe getting your number, but I didn’t think through the logistics of how that would actually go down.”

Akaashi found himself laughing again. It was odd. Normally, he couldn’t keep his eyes off his feet when talking to new people, but something about his not-stranger was welcoming and comfortable. He felt as if he could (dare he say it) actually hold a conversation with whoever the man was.

“Koutarou Bokuto. It’s nice to finally meet you!”

Bokuto extended his hand with a grin akin to a predator, and Akaashi accepted it with one a little more subtle.

Bokuto’s hands were cold but comfortable, and his skin felt soft against Akaashi’s own. Blue and gray paint stains wrapped themselves around Bokuto’s fingers, so Akaashi supposed it was safe to say this man was an art major. Something warm fluttered in his chest.

“Keiji Akaashi. The pleasure’s mine.”

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_‘If I had never met you, I don’t think I would’ve survived that class.’_

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kozume never gets angry, not like this.

 

For just a moment, Akaashi lets himself be curious about the fire behind his friend’s usually kind amber eyes, but he knows already. He just doesn’t want to let himself believe.

 

After all, this may be his fault in the first place. He fully intended to tell Kuroo to be home before midnight. Kozume has been complaining about his friend’s long nights for weeks.

 

Akaashi wanted to do something helpful, but he forgot.

Of course he did.

 

Now Kozume’s small figure sits cross-legged on his bed, running a hand through his messy bleached hair and watching his phone intently. He called Kuroo several times, only to be directed to a scratchy voice mail.

 

Kuroo seems like an asshole, but he would never do something like this. Not if he knew how much it would bother Kozume.

 

Kozume isn’t one to worry either, but since the man left Kuroo has been out every night. God knows where he goes.

 

He’s always curled up next to Kozume the next morning; full of apologetic smiles, bad jokes, and even worse bedhead.

 

Akaashi sets a hand on his friend’s shoulder and feels Kozume relax slightly, a soft exhale of breath.

 

“Hey.” Akaashi kneels down next to him, “He’ll be fine. Kuroo’s an idiot, but he would never put himself in danger. You know that better than I do.”

 

There’s silence from the other boy, and suddenly the tension in the room is a lot thicker than it was just seconds before. Kozume takes another deep breath.

 

“I did.”

 

He says then, voice unstable.

 

“You do.”

 

Akaashi replies.

 

And then Kozume is trembling and leaning into the pressure against his shoulder, into Akaashi, lowering his head and gripping the bed sheets. When he speaks again it’s rushed and gruff, unlike Kozume, unlike how Akaashi has ever heard him, a long stream of words and sobs.

 

“No. I don’t. I haven’t known him for weeks, Keiji, he looks fine but he’s… he’s hurt. Sometimes he’ll stare off into nothing for minutes upon end and he’ll get this look in his eyes, this dead look that makes me question if he’s Kuroo at all and I just want him back.  He hasn’t been in reality for a while. He’s been stuck in his head since Koutarou left-”

 

Akaashi’s grip on his shoulder goes slack at the name and curses himself for it.

 

Kozume glares at him out of the corner of his eyes and wipes the tears from his cheeks in one rough movement. They stare at each other until Akaashi can feel the tears stinging at the corners of his own eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi says after a while, before curling in on himself, arms wrapped around his own waist.

 

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_‘I’m sorry, Keiji. I wish I could have been better for you.’_

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Akaashi greeted him the next day, Bokuto had already forgotten his name.

He apologized profusely, one step back from kneeling at Akaashi’s feet for forgiveness, but Akaashi honestly couldn’t care less. Every time he looked at Bokuto, he only wanted to hear about whatever the eccentric was going on about next. Something about toasters and Kuroo and electrocution.

“You know Kuroo.” Akaashi stated, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“He’s my main man. Closer than close. I met him a few weeks ago and we just clicked, you  know.”

Just a few weeks ago... “Bokuto, how long have you been going here?”

“Four weeks!” He took the seat next to Akaashi’s, head tilted towards him, “I move around a lot. Like a lot, a lot.  Just came back from a few years in Greece… I think I was in Canada before that? Who knows. I stopped keeping track.”

“A few years? How old are you?”

“Twenty-four!” A year older than Akaashi. He felt pleased with himself. Small as it was, this was a way he could relate to Bokuto  about something besides astrology.

They filled up the time before class with easy conversation. Bokuto never seemed to run out of breath. He had one of those personalities that made you want listen to his stories for hours, which was probably perfectly possible. By the sound of it, Bokuto’s family brought him along on adventures within the borders  of his small town since he was old enough to walk.

“I started hunting when I was eight,” he told Akaashi, “But I never wanted to kill anything. I just liked spending time with my brother. I’ve always been a night owl, and it was an excuse to go outside after the moon came up.”

“I see,” Akaashi replied, leaning back in his chair to get a better look at Bokuto. His most noticeable feature would have to be his hair, black locks streaked with white strands, gelled up into something defying the law of physics itself, but that wasn’t his most striking. In the right light, his eyes shined yellow and his grin was, as noted before, feral.

Bokuto looked like the kind of man you would see across the street and still be thinking about hours later.

Akaashi couldn’t figure out if he wanted to know him or be him, but someone with a personality as blinding as his was someone he definitely wanted to get close to.

It wasn’t long before class started. Akaashi couldn’t help but watch his new friend’s profile with interest, and finally came to the conclusion that he was jealous of the other man. He had a way of drawing people to him, a charisma Akaashi never had but always wanted.

Bokuto caught his eye with a small smirk before directing his attention back to the lesson Akaashi should have been listening to.

After a few minutes of doodling in his notebook, Akaashi felt someone nudge his shoulder. He looked up to see Bokuto sliding a piece of paper over to him.

 

_“do you want to get some coffee after class?”_

 

He nodded. Bokuto grabbed the sheet of paper back long enough to write down a ten digit number on the back and tuck it into Akaashi’s book bag.

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_‘Bitter coffee gives you a bitter attitude, Keiji. You’re too sweet for something like that.’_

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kuroo is back the next morning.

 

Kozume tries to be angry but he can’t stay mad for long. Not when Kuroo comes up behind him and envelopes him in a tight hug, practically squeezing all the pent up negativity from the night before out of the smaller man.

 

He buries his nose in Kozume’s hair, nuzzling into him, and Akaashi sees the smile revealing itself from the folds of Kozume’s mouth as hard as he tries to hide it.

 

Akaashi is suddenly reminded of how _they_ were and looks away to keep himself from thinking too long about it.

 

He leaves after chiding Kuroo quietly.

 

The day unfolds under a haze of his own thoughts, glaring up at the sun as it stings his eyes. Time passes in waves, slowing down whenever his thoughts drift to the man.

 

It gives him a headache, the same ideas swimming around and around in circles, blood pulsing in his ear. He sits down for a few minutes, leaning back and closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of something typical. Boring.

 

Someone somewhere takes a drag of his cigarette and smells the same thing with the same reaction.

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_‘If nothing else, I could quit for you.’_

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He heard Bokuto before he saw him. A loud laugh spilled from the walls of a cafe Bokuto insisted they go to, and as Akaashi peered into the window he saw his date chatting with a little orange-haired boy on the other side of the counter. The bell next to the door chimed politely and Bokuto whipped his head around to greet him, a small smile already tugging at the corner of his lips. He patted the arm of the young boy and turned completely to the newly arrived customer.

“Lets order!” He beamed, beckoning the other man to come to the counter. As he did so, another boy leaped up from under the oven a few feet back, head colliding into some overhanging pans. He didn’t seem to be bothered by this in the least. With a small movement to tuck his silver hair behind an ear, the very, very _tall_ boy grinned.

“Wow, you’re really beautiful.” He shouted, striding over to where the small one was. “You’re like a model. But less conventional. Drop dead gorgeous!”  
Akaashi felt like his face had been lit on fire. Bokuto just laughed and grabbed the boy’s apron, tugging him across the counter.

“Right! Right! That’s _exactly_ right, Haiba. It’s just not fair!” He threw a dramatic arm around his shoulders. Akaashi felt like melting into the floor.

Haiba nodded his head enthusiastically, “You must have a very cute girlfriend. A cute girlfriend for a cute guy.”

Akaashi coughed, “No, umm, no girlfriend. Never.”

Before he had even finished his sentence, Bokuto’s eyes were widening. “Impossible! Someone needs to date you quickly. There’s not many fish as cute as you in the ocean.”

“You’re a catch!” The small boy added, helpfully.

Akaashi squirmed under the gaze of his company. Who knew three people this enthusiastic could all be in the same place at once. It should have been illegal.

“Bokuto, we were going to have coffee, correct?” He mumbled, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He decided to wear his long-sleeved solid black T today with the small gray owl peering out from his breast pocket, with Bokuto in mind, opposed to his usual solid black t-shirt with nothing but a nearly-invisible coffee stain he usually went with. After all, he saw it a few days ago in the mall and immediately thought of the man now standing next to him, who had still not answered his question.

Bokuto stared at him blankly, before his eyes lit up in recognition, “Right, sorry.” He turned to the orange-haired boy, “Hinata, can you get me a chocolate caramel latte and…” He raised an eyebrow at Akaashi.

“Just black coffee.”

Bokuto smirked, but nodded in acceptance, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a big leather wallet.

They drank their respected coffees, laughed, talked about space, and complained about art and economics. The hour past by steadily, Akaashi loving every minute of it but willing to take it in moderation. They agreed on another date, same time next week, and said their goodbyes.

Akaashi didn’t have much on his schedule for the rest of the day. Just the typical dinner at Kozume’s and a night sleeping on his couch. But Kuroo and Kozume were always good company. He wasn’t planning on complaining.

When the time came, Kozume greeted him with the usual small smile and a nod. Kuroo greeted him with the usual hug and slobbery kiss to the cheek.

And Bokuto greeted him with an over enthusiastic “Akaashi!” and “Surprise!”

Deep breaths.

“I hope you don’t mind I invited this idiot. He was whining on about not having anyone to cook for him, so I gave him Kenma.”

Said Kenma Kozume threw Kuroo a dirty look.

Akaashi laughed quietly into his hand at their antics, trying not to look at Bokuto with every fiber of his being. He’d only end up being caught staring, after all.

“Well let’s get this show on the road!” Bokuto shouted, practically skipping into the dining room.

Kuroo watched him with a fond smile. “I love that guy. Every day’s a party, you know.” He shakes his head, turning to the other two. “I actually do hope you’ll excuse him for barging in on our usual Tuesday routine. He’s something of a force to be reckoned with, but he told me you guys met before. So, it shouldn’t be too painful. For us two, that is. I don’t know about Kenma over there.”

Kozume sent him another glare and pointedly walked away into the kitchen. Kuroo smirked and jerked his head over to the dining room, signaling for Akaashi and him to get to the table before Bokuto destroyed anything too valuable.

They got there just in time to see Bokuto reach over to touch Kozume’s cat, who in turn gifted Bokuto with a deep scratch along his palm. Akaashi sighed. Kuroo erupted into laughter. Bokuto shrieked in pain.

“My man, I told you that Kenma’s cat is a little fuzzy hell spawn. Why would you try to… was that an attempt to pet her?”

Bokuto pouted, “But she’s a _cute_ little fuzzy hell spawn.”

This just made Kuroo laugh even louder. Akaashi rolled his eyes and sat down at his usual spot around the table. He’d like to say that’s where the chaos ended. He’d like to.

Unfortunately, it took another cat-induced injury, three broken plates, and a bone-chilling lecture from Kozume before all four of them could get settled at the table for dinner. The night from there proceeded (mainly) without incident. Bokuto and Kuroo operated like the dynamic duo of dimwits they were. Gossiping, joking, and brainstorming stupid ideas that they both took way too seriously.

Akaashi and Kozume bonded that night, both victim to witnessing Kuroo’s rendition of some American song they both really, really didn’t want to know the name of, judging by the lewd dance moves Bokuto treated them with in the background.

By the time Akaashi was starting to feel a little tired, Bokuto excused himself from the dinner, thanking Kozume _very_ enthusiastically and hugging Kuroo so tight, Akaashi couldn’t tell if he was still breathing. He smiled at Akaashi then, wishing him well before taking his leave reluctantly. Akaashi found his eyes glued to the door even after Bokuto left, barely paying any attention to Kuroo’s sniggers. Kozume punched his childhood friend in the arm, before getting up to do dishes like the saint he is.

“Bokuto’s a real hoot, isn’t he?”

Akaashi hummed, smiling slightly as he played with the table cloth.

“I like him too you know. I think it’d be hard for anyone to dislike that goober. But…” He trails off, letting the typical smirk take over his features, “If I wasn’t occupied pining over a certain unattainable dork, I might feel threatened by you.”  
Kozume sings quietly from the kitchen. They can both hear him despite the sound of dishes crashing together and water splashing against the sides of the sink. Kozume’s voice is soft, sweet, and subtle, much like the man himself.

“I just met Bokuto, Kuroo. I don’t like him like that, yet.”

“I know, I know.” Kuroo sighs. “I would be surprised if you did. Just, Bokuto’s a cool guy. And I’m kinda hoping that, if everything goes right, we could all be pretty close, you know? It’s like goof ball is the missing piece we needed. You, him, me, Kenma. We could be the perfect little squad.”

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_“I loved Kuroo too, you know? I didn’t want to hurt him either. You have to understand, I didn’t want any of this.”_

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Akaashi opens the door with full intentions of murdering whoever is on the other side, but stops with a gasp when he meets the gaze of his late night guest.

 

There stands Kuroo, looking like a legitimate mess.

 

The stench of alcohol sticks to his skin like last week’s guilt.

 

Kuroo averts his eyes and shuffles his feet, slowly becoming aware of the fact that the oversized shirt hanging from his torso has slipped off one of his shoulders. Akaashi sighs and steps back to let him in.

 

He doesn't know what he expected.

"I thought you said you weren't going to drink for a while" Akaashi says anyway, closing the door behind his friend and letting his hand hang from the brass door knob, eyes squeezed shut.

 

He promised... He promised... He promised....

 

"Didn't you say that you weren't going to get yourself drunk anymore? Didn't you tell me you wanted to do better for Kozume's sake?" Akaashi manages to keep his voice cool and collected, just loud enough for Kuroo to hear.

"Akaashi," Kuroo's voice, on the other hand, is rough like sandpaper, and just a little bit too loud. Akaashi doesn't want to know where he's been. "You know that giving up your only way of coping is easier said than done."

  
"I don't have a ‘way of coping’, Kuroo. And it's painful as hell, but don't you think that’s better than running the risk of getting yourself hurt?"

 

Akaashi starts towards the kitchen but doesn't raise his eyes. He doesn't want to risk lashing out at one of his only friends.

 

Being woken up after dark only to be disappointed further by someone he thought he trusted makes him irritable as it is.

 

He rummages through the cabinets for tea and mugs. He can hear Kuroo's footsteps coming his way.

"I'm not strong like you, Akaashi. I can't deal with things like this, and Bokuto, he just- he messed me up."

Akaashi's grip on his mug slips and he curses, trying to regain his composure.

He vaguely wonders if he'll ever be able to hear that name again without doing something embarrassing.

"I know that. I know that, Kuroo. Hell, I was in love with him." Akaashi sets down the mugs with more force than he meant to and feels Kuroo flinching next to him.

 

Akaashi takes a deep breath before turning around to examine his visitor again.

Kuroo looks broken.

"Akash- Keiji. Please." He walks toward him, wobbling slightly, and leans down to touch his forehead with Akaashi's. There's a thin film of sweat covering his skin and his breath reeks of intoxication.

  
"Please help me."

 

With those words, Kuroo closes the gap between their lips and Akaashi can't help but just stand there, feeling that sick pressure, well aware of the arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer.

  
He stares at Kuroo, crossed eyed and exhausted, before eventually closing his eyes and pressing back.

  
What does he have to lose?

Kuroo smiles against his lips before immediately moving to deepen the kiss, tongue flickering out of his mouth to lick Akaashi's bottom lip. Akaashi grants him admission against his better judgment because making out with someone might actually be what he needs right now.

  
Kuroo explores his mouth with something that if Akaashi didn’t know better, he might have confused with excitement.

 

He slides his thumb down to pull at the waistband of Akaashi's sweatpants and Akaashi lets out a surprised noise when Kuroo backs him against the wall.

 

Kuroo’s mumbling something indecipherable and Akaashi breaks away to whisper a simple, “What?”

The other man shakes his head and leans down again to continue but Akaashi puts a finger to his lips, pushing Kuroo back and asking again, “What?”

 

Kuroo looks at him and bites his lower lip, worrying it gently. Akaashi can’t see him clearly, but it seems like he’s trembling a little, and he reaches to grab his hand. Before he knows it, Kuroo is letting his head fall to Akaashi’s chest.

 

Tears are soaking his undershirt.

 

He wraps an arm around Kuroo’s shoulder, pulling him into a hug. Akaashi holds him for a few seconds before reaching up to cradle Kuroo’s cheek with his other hand, pulling him up so he can look his friend in the eye.

 

“Kuroo, tell me what’s wrong.”

 

Kuroo sniffles and nods once.

 

“I just- This is all my fault isn’t it?”

 

Akaashi lets out a quiet gasp and shakes his head violently. When  Kuroo tries to look the other direction, Akaashi pulls the hand stroking his back away to hold Kuroo’s other cheek and force him to maintain eye contact, force him to listen to what he’s about to say.

 

“Kuroo. This whole thing is nobody’s fault except-” Akaashi takes a deep breath, “-Koutarou’s. I know you must think that the things you said pushed him to do what he did but he was going to leave us either way. He’s a heartless asshole and we need to accept that.”

He honestly doesn’t believe a word that just left his mouth, but they earn him a small smile and shrug. Kuroo straightens up, and though he’s still crying he seems better.

 

Huh.

 

Akaashi hears the kettle screaming and slides between Kuroo and the wall to go settle it. Kuroo stands there, staring into space, but Akaashi isn’t that worried. He needs time to think.  They all do.

 

He stays for tea before excusing himself, needing to get back to Kozume. Akaashi sees him out before collapsing on the bed for some well needed rest.

 

He rises at 6:30 the next morning, as per usual.

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_“Your consistency never fails to amaze me.”_

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Days passed. Akaashi and Bokuto found time to talk before class or in the afternoons for coffee at various cafes Bokuto asked to check out. Akaashi hadn’t even heard of most of the places they found, but it was nice to explore the university a bit. After all, Akaashi didn’t go on walks like these that often, not in the winter anyway, the exception being lunches with Kozume. Everything about Bokuto excited him: the smiles, the energy, the sheer passion that he put into every word that he expelled from his mouth. He smelled of cinnamon and cigarette smoke, and when he hugged Akaashi at the end of the day, it was easy to find comfort in that scent. Sometimes Akaashi would watch his hands, the purple and blue paint stains and fingernails chewed to the skin. He’d wonder what those hands would feel like against his own.

A week flew by before Akaashi even talked to Bokuto outside of scheduled dates. He saw him from across the park, sitting on a bench with a cigarette between his fingers, smiling up at the sky. The sun was beginning to set, and Akaashi was already feeling tired, but he approached Bokuto anyway. Bokuto’s eyes lit up when he sat down next to him.

“Akaashi.” He grinned

“Bokuto.” Akaashi responded. And with that, they sat and watched the people passing by. After a moment, Akaashi tilted his head to Bokuto and murmured, “I didn’t know you were a smoker.”

“Oh, right.” Bokuto laughed nervously, voice loud enough to cut through the silence like a hot knife through butter, “I usually take a smoke break before hanging out with you. I don’t know why, but I thought it might chase you away. I really want you to think I’m an awesome guy. You don’t seem like someone who approves of cigarettes-”

“I don’t. I find it selfish.”

A pause.

“But I don’t mind if you do it, I think.”

Akaashi could hear Bokuto let out a sigh, “I’m sorry. I’ve been smoking since I was sixteen, it’s hard to quit. Maybe if I get a family or something...”

Akaashi bit his lip and finally let himself look over at Bokuto. He faintly saw dark crescents below his eyelids and lips dry and chapped, eyes shimmering. Akaashi furrowed  his eyebrows before reaching out a hand to cover Bokuto’s. So that’s what it feels like. He heard a short intake of breath and Bokuto turned his head slightly to look at Akaashi properly.

“You seem quiet. What’s wrong?”

He cleared his throat, “Nothing. Just a long day.”

“You can tell me about it, you know.”

Bokuto stared at his friend, if Akaashi could even be called that at this point. Bokuto hadn’t really liked someone as much as he liked Akaashi since… a long time ago. And here he was asking about him, taking an interest in what actually happened during his day. Taking an interest in Bokuto.

Nobody had ever done that for him before.

Bokuto cracked a smile, “The project I’m working on for my major is hell. _Hell_ , Akaashi! Why did I think doing art was a good idea?” He hooted with laughter, “We’re working with- do you want to hear what we’re working with?”

Akaashi nodded before sliding closer and resting his head on his shoulder, looking out over the park again. He could feel Bokuto leaning into him and after a few minutes Akaashi closed his eyes and nuzzled closer into Bokuto, feeling an arm wrapping along his back. Bokuto went on about the project-from-hell, but Akaashi wasn’t really listening. He tried to, sure, but it was past his bedtime. His eyelids felt unmanageably heavy. What’s the harm in letting them rest? His head went limp against Bokuto’s shoulder

Smoke and cinnamon.

Akaashi woke up to the feeling of Bokuto nudging his arm, but he dropped instantly into a sleep-induced daze, hanging off Bokuto like an oversized child. He heard a laugh and felt vibrations coursing through Bokuto’s chest.

“I should get you home. What dorm do you live in?”

Akaashi grunted.

“A name of a friend, maybe?”

Akaashi grunted again.

He felt Bokuto sigh and a strong arm wrapped around his torso, the other under the dip of his knees and before he knew it he was being carried bridal-style through campus, his own arms still wrapped around Bokuto’s neck.

And suddenly, his limbs went limp, and Bokuto pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. He watched Akaashi become enveloped by moonlight and smoothed his black hair back, letting his fingers get tangled in his curls. Despite how big he appeared awake, Akaashi seemed small when he slept. Bokuto decided then, under the gaze of the moon and no one else, that he needed Akaashi more than anything. He was waiting for someone to come around and hold him in their arms, but maybe holding someone himself was even more satisfactory.

He brought Akaashi to his apartment, with all innocent intentions of course, and laid him on his bed, positioning the wrinkled pillow in a way that might be more comfortable for his guest. Pulling the blankets up to Akaashi’s chin, he let himself admire the beautiful man before retiring to his couch, which is where he ended up sleeping most nights anyways.

Put on Parks and Recreation.

Lay back.

Watch until the sun peeks out from over the horizon. Only then can he ever let himself sleep.

 

Bokuto cringed at the sun peering in through his blinds and squinted into its light. He could distantly hear the sound of water running and glasses clinking in the kitchen.

“Akaashi.” He murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

He almost forgot he carried him back to his apartment last night.

Bokuto somehow convinces himself to sit up, even if he wanted to drift back to sleep just despite the sunlight that was really starting to get on his nerves. Nevertheless, he turned his head the direction of his kitchen and lo and behold, saw Akaashi trying to do something unnecessary like wash the dishes. He pulled on a lazy grin and threw his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“Akaaaashi. What are you doing?”

He heard the clang of a dish hitting the sink and turned his attention back to the man in question. Akaashi met his eyes with an unimpressed glare and Bokuto laughed at the sight of it. He looked way too good when he was annoyed at Bokuto.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Akaashi grunted.

Bokuto merely waved a dismissive hand his direction and broke into a yawn. Akaashi sighed and left the remaining dishes in favor of moving closer to Bokuto and collapsing into the chair directly to the right of the couch Bokuto fell asleep on just a few hours prior.

He bit his lip and stared at his feet. “Umm, thank you.”

Bokuto perked up in surprise. “For what.”

“For letting me come over and dealing with me when I’m like… that.”

Bokuto still flaunted around his usual cheesy grin when he completely turned to face Akaashi. “Akaash, you know I don’t mind that much.”

“I’m going to make breakfast. You can just sit back and relax.”

“Akaashi-”

“Don’t give me any ‘you don’t have to pay me back’ bullshit, Bokuto.”

He stopped, mouth sinking open before breaking into a ridiculous roar of laughter.

“Who knew you were so cute in the mornings!”

The black haired boy hoped to God his face wasn’t getting as red as it felt. At this point, Bokuto’s typical flirtatious behavior didn’t surprise him, but that certainly didn’t mean he was going to get used to his antics anytime soon, especially not when he maybe, possibly enjoyed them.

“Okay, okay. If you really want to repay me you could give me a kiss?” Bokuto threw him an over exaggerated wink but the comment guaranteed Akaashi’s blush anyway.

“If I do will you shut up?”

When Bokuto gaped at him this time, it filled Akaashi with a weird feeling of triumph. He had finally figured out how to fluster the undisturbable. Following through with his threat, however…

Given, he could technically just tell Bokuto that it was a joke, but at this rate if Akaashi didn’t kiss him now, when would he?

Bokuto nodded furiously and scooted so his face was just inches away Akaashi, who giggled at the sight. What was he doing? He’d only met Bokuto a few weeks ago. He really shouldn’t do this and yet.

He grabbed the front of Bokuto’s shirt. Pulled it to him. Placed his lips against the other man’s.

A small sound of content fueled Akaashi to find any way possible to elicit more. He leaned in farther, searching for a more significant pressure. Bokuto was more than willing to let Akaashi tower over him, hold his shoulders still and overpower him, and before long Akaashi had to pull away if only just for a moment, long enough to stand up and sit down practically on top of Bokuto. Bokuto grinned into their next kiss and held Akaashi’s hips, thumb gliding over the bone and sinking his fingernails into the skin as Akaashi caught his bottom lip between his teeth and tugged back. He took advantage of Bokuto’s open mouth to glide in his tongue, and it was then that Bokuto pulled back and stared up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“I have class at 10:00.”

Akaashi grinned, “Me too.”

He got a text an hour later asking why he didn’t show up. He also adamantly refused to answer, deciding that his time was better spent doing a certain someone.

When Kuroo hears about it from Bokuto a few days later he calls Akaashi immediately and demands to know why he didn’t tell him before, and Akaashi simply tells him he wasn’t aware it was any of his business. Kuroo doesn’t talk to him for at least an hour.

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_‘Let me decide these things for my own.’_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

Akaashi can’t see himself ever forgetting.

 

He wakes up the next morning to the familiar feeling of guilt burning in his throat.

 

He tries to wash it down with water but the taste of Kuroo’s lips lingers and reminds him of poison.

 

His phone chimes with a single message:

 

_I’m sorry. -Kuroo_

 

And maybe Akaashi shouldn’t feel so guilty. It wasn’t entirely his fault anyways...

 

Ah, there it is again. The rational part of him knows that he’s not to blame, but a larger part of him is convinced he is.

 

So he gives in, and it’s what brings him to shape his limbs into a fetal position at the end of his bed, teeth scraping against the surface of his tongue as a way to get the taste off, get the guilt as far away from him as possible.

 

He’ll have to see Kuroo again soon, but maybe if he just doesn’t address that what happened last night might have been a conjoined effort, it won’t happen soon enough.

 

(He knows it will. They have plans to meet up for lunch.)

 

The doorbell rings.

 

Akaashi pulls himself up to go answer it but is greeted with a sight he honestly wishes he could have stayed in bed for.

 

He seems to be feeling that a lot lately. Maybe next time someone knocks on the door he should take the easy way out and kindly commit defenestration through the window next to his bed.

 

But there he is. Lev Haiba. Back with an even worse haircut and missing his usual dumb grin.

 

“Haiba,” Akaashi breathed, “Why are you here?”

 

Lev shuffled his feet and bit his lip, slowly raising his gaze to meet Akaashi’s. He knew what Lev was going to say before he even opened his mouth.

 

There was only one reason why Lev would even come close to talking to Akaashi after it happened, considering how close they were, considering how _he_ was the only reason that Akaashi and Lev met in the first place.

 

“It’s Bokuto.” Akaashi sighed. Of course. “He’s back.”

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_‘I just… don’t think I could fully commit to you.’_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

The night of the full moon weeks later, Bokuto called up Akaashi and asked him if he wanted to go stargazing. Akaashi couldn’t say no, despite his sleeping habits, as long as Bokuto was aware that he might very likely fall asleep.

But, Akaashi was starting to get used to staying up at night anyways.

He didn’t feel like himself but he felt good. He didn’t shine so bright after dark but he wasn’t lonely either. When the clock struck to the early morning he was suddenly hit with the realization that everyone awake with him right now had their own specific reason to be beside mere expectation, which should have been obvious, but Akaashi almost felt special.

He stared out his window in anticipation for the sound of three knocks on his door, listening to the dwindling sounds of the clock mounted against his wall chiming once because Bokuto insisted that the sky was most beautiful when the night was at it’s darkest. The stars seemed to shine brighter with the full moon as their competition and Akaashi couldn’t help but smile up at them.

Ten minutes later found the two of them in a park near Akaashi’s dorm, Bokuto rifling through the contents of the little picnic basket and Akaashi laying out a blanket he found in a closet seldom opened. It was all very cliche, but Bokuto found most of his romantic techniques from old 80’s movies so what did you expect?

They ate their late-dinner and stared up at the sky, pointing out constellations they learned about in class and exchanging kisses in the dark.

Suddenly Bokuto turned to his side and nuzzled into Akaashi’s sweater.

Akaashi smiled softly, “What are you doing there.”

Bokuto mumbled something muffled by the cotton.

“Bokuto, you have to speak up.”

He heaved out a sigh and sat himself up, throwing his weight onto his elbows so that he could look down at Akaashi’s laying form

“Tonight we can see the Andromeda Galaxy, right. And Akaashi, that’s like 15 quadrillion miles away. We can see... Deneb– a star that’s 19 quadrillion miles away. Umm, Eta Carina is a whole 44 quadrillion miles away, okay, but we can see it clearly. All these galaxies and stars and planets that are completely out of our reach but they seem tangible right here in this exact spot. A-and if you block out reason you can almost start to believe that we’re not so completely small. Not tonight. Akaashi, tonight we are giants, and we can see our universe on this exact planet. This country. This city. This university. This exact spot.” He paused and blinked from his wide eyed stare to see Akaashi, properly. “And, Keiji, on this exact spot I’m going to tell you I love you. Because we are bigger than anything. We are everything.”

Bokuto sheepishly looked down at him, probably needing immediate confirmation that what he just said wasn't completely off kilter. Akaashi let out a shuddering breath. They were going too fast. That was honestly the cheesiest fucking thing he had ever heard. He couldn't reciprocate, and yet.

Bokuto looked so hopeful. Akaashi couldn’t just tell him he didn’t love him. He could fall in love with him eventually, he thinks. And Akaashi doesn’t want whatever this is to stop. He likes being with Bokuto. It’s like being part of another universe entirely.

An illogical universe. A universe that science hadn’t caught up to yet. Everything was a mystery to Akaashi, he didn’t know a think about Bokuto, it was all going to collapse after a while due to an unstable orbit. Akaashi couldn’t name the ugly feeling in his chest, but it made his head spin and his stomach lurch and he needs something more-

He silenced these ideas with a kiss to Bokuto’s lips but the thoughts didn’t disperse like he hoped they would, only got louder, threatening him lightly with a migraine. Akaashi pulled back.

Bokuto was smiling, but at the edges of his eyes, Akaashi could have sworn he saw tears.

The next minute spanned on for the length of forever and he felt in his gut that he made the wrong decision.

He could already feel himself

 

starting

 

to f _all_

 

_apart._

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_‘It was my fault. I’m sorry. It was my fault. I’m sorry. It was-’_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

Koutarou Bokuto came from a big Japanese family in Oregon, USA.

 

It doesn’t matter to him that much. He’s also fairly certain he’s blocked it completely out of his memory for reasons he doesn’t care to talk about.

 

Its times like these that he figures it’s best to think about his past regardless of what he might prefer. He can’t hope to redeem himself if he doesn’t, after all.

 

He stands in front of a doorway too familiar for comfort, teeth digging into his bottom lip and smiling around the sting it gives him. This is a mistake. This is a mistake. This is a mistake.

 

All Bokuto is anymore is a memory of a mistake.

Kuroo would never understand, of course. Sure he had struggles, we all do, but Bokuto still has nightmares about his.

 

He can still smell cigarette smoke and the stench of alcohol, but maybe that’s just Kuroo’s apartment.

 

It reminds him, though, of being ten again.

 

Of laying awake in his bed with wide owl eyes staring at the crack of light below his doorframe.

 

If he closes his eyes he can hear the sounds of feet stomping against the wood panels, someone fumbling for the doorknob, a loud clank and the sound of Hisao puking his guts out in the bathroom across the hall from Koutarou’s childhood bedroom. He would wait until the retching stopped and his brother lazily flushed the toilet, imagining the silhouette of Hisao stumbling through the hall, shadows cascading across the walls from a moon that didn’t seem to belong to Koutarou.

 

On nights like these, it had abandoned him for the empty bottle of liquor discarded under his brother’s bed, a blanket thrown over the pile of similar glass bodies, which had somehow fooled their mother.

 

When he was sure Hisao was done drinking for the night, the smaller Bokuto crept out of his covers and slid open the door, cringing as it creaked in protest (what can you expect from old houses). He tip-toed to Hisao’s room and slipped in through the doorway, feeling his way through the dark and climbing into his brother’s bed, who grumbled in response. Bokuto hugged him anyway. Their parents found him there the next morning, sleeping with his arms pulled tight around Hisao’s waist like he was protecting him from something bigger than all of them.

 

He never got hangovers, something that seemed like a blessing at the time. After all, Koutarou and Hisao were a team. Koutarou didn’t want to see his brother getting in trouble with their parents.

 

And after breakfast he would trail after Hisao, clinging onto his shirt as they went back into Hisao’s bedroom. Hisao would shut the door and sit next to Koutarou on the bed, discussing his latest adventure with hushed voices.

 

Hisao would talk about his plans. He had a lot of them, each more complicated than the one before it. He wanted Koutarou to know about what he was going to do once he left town.

 

That was all he really talked about; It seemed like leaving town was the only goal for Hisao. He felt cramped in Oregon all his life, apparently, just waiting to pick up some money, buy a car, and drive far away.

 

Just a little more money.

 

Just a little more money.

 

Just a little more money.

 

But 18 years since Hisao was delivered to this town, a big baby in the hospital right outside of its borders, he still hadn’t gotten that money.

 

So he drank.

 

Because if you’re only trying to figure out how to leave somewhere and never thinking about where you're going, your destination might end up being something as small as the bottom of a bottle of beer. As long as he was going somewhere, right?

 

His intoxication became his escape and Koutarou knew it, but he still wasn’t old enough to understand.

 

It was something of a hard wake up call when Hisao didn’t come home one night. His parents asked him where he was, of course, seeing as Koutarou was the only one Hisao let himself get close to, but Koutarou was only 13 and his parents' angry voices demanding to know a secret he swore to protect scared him.

He cried and held his hands over his ears and his parents couldn’t get a word out of him until he saw the flashes of blue and red draped across his living room like sheer curtains. He snuffled and uncovered his ears and let himself listen to the wailing of sirens.

 

Hisao never got to leave the town.

 

He was buried there, six feet under and parallel to the graves of their family before them. Koutarou’s mom and dad would end up buried there next to his brother.

 

Koutarou never attended the funeral.

 

No.

 

Koutarou was already planning on getting halfway across the country by then. He was going to do what his brother couldn’t. He would never let himself end up like Hisao, another name in a graveyard for people to pass and pity. He wasn’t going to be looked at as the kid who never left the town he was born in. He wasn’t going to follow life step-by-step and drink himself to an early death at the age of 18 because he couldn’t stand mediocrity anymore. And if that meant Koutarou would never settle down, so be it.

 

He would travel to every part of the world he could reach and maybe through his traveling, he would find something you can’t pin point on a world map: happiness. True happiness.

 

Bokuto never entertained the possibility that he could find that in a single place.

 

In a person.

 

That is until he found Akaashi.

 

When he fell in love with that 182 cm of messy black hair and sarcasm his first instinct was to panic. He couldn’t possibly give Akaashi everything he deserved. Especially not with a single plane ticket staring down at him from his bulletin board whenever he tried to go to sleep.

 

So he left before things gathered dust.

 

He soaked up what he could from the intimacy they shared, what he hoped to be his first and last relationship. He couldn’t stand to be tied down and he was scared of the emotions Akaashi gave him almost as much as he craved them.

 

He left before Akaashi became enough of a reason for him to stay forever.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

_‘There are a lot of things I’ve done, Akaashi. I regret every single one of them. But what I don’t regret was running away.’_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  


Two weeks after Bokuto’s confession, Akaashi was completely and thoroughly confused.

He and Bokuto had plans, right? Bokuto had asked him out to dinner at the fanciest place on campus in celebration of Akaashi’s birthday on Thursday, but seemingly, he had stood him up.

Which was weird. Since Bokuto was far from flaky, at least as Akaashi knew him.

After a few minutes spent sitting at the table alone like an idiot and fruitlessly calling his boyfriend’s cell, Akaashi finally gave in and sent Kuroo a call, seeing if somewhere in Hell there was an answer to his problem.

Apparently, there was.

Kuroo responded quickly, “Hey, Akaashi, I’m with Bokuto right now. I can’t really talk...”

“Sorry to interrupt, Kuroo. Now, why is Bokuto there and not across the table from me ordering all the appetizers off the menu?”

There was a pause.

“You guys have a date today-”

“Yes, Bokuto and I have a date today.”

Kuroo sighed, “Yeah, Bokuto isn’t really at his best right now. He hasn’t gotten out of his bed all day. He did this last month too, it’s just a mood he gets into sometimes, I guess. You’re welcome to come over and try to coax him out from underneath his covers.”

Akaashi took a deep breath. He supposes that’s an explanation believable enough, seeing as Bokuto is still nearly entirely a mystery to him. “I’ll come over. Where are you guys?”

“Bokuto’s place.”

Akaashi bit his lip. He doesn’t even know where that is.

“... Do you mind texting me the address?”

Kuroo chuckles, “You mean you haven’t spent a few sleepless nights over here with your boyfriend?”

Akaashi groans. Mostly because he _had_ spent the night. He was just dead tired the entire way there.

“No problem, Akaash. I’ll send it your way. See you in a bit.”

He apologized to the waiter and maneuvered his way through the restaurant and back onto the street, smiling slightly when he heard his phone go off.

He felt kind of excited to see whatever this mess was, even if a small part of him figured he shouldn’t.

 

Akaashi walked into the apartment to find Kuroo consoling a pile of blankets on the couch, an empty tub of ice cream rolling around by his feet. He announced his arrival with a quiet hello and made his way to the blankets, which had started to tremble and murmur and could only be Koutarou Bokuto. Akaashi stopped midway when Kuroo sent him a curt shake of the head and mouthed _not now_ his direction, so he shrugged and turned around to check out the rest of the apartment, not having had the real chance to do so yet. The kitchen seemed the same as last time Akaashi visited, if not a little dirtier, but the bedroom appeared weirdly dark from where he stood. Not just dark but a little… ominous.

He leaned his head inside to look around and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Feeling satisfied with his decision, he flicked on the lights and started to snoop around a little, for curiosity’s sake.

A couple of volleyball posters slapped on the walls.

Way too much owl merchandise.

Pictures of various landmarks from different parts of the world.

But besides that, there didn’t seem to be anything typical or homey. It all seemed very detached. He wondered if Bokuto just wasn’t settled in yet, if maybe he should get some things for Bokuto’s apartment if only just to liven it up a little more. The room was practically empty.

Out of the corner of his eye, Akaashi spotted a bulletin board, littered with post-it notes and pictures from Paris and a single plane ticket receipt.

 

Akaashi stopped.

 

He let his fingers brush over the tack before gently guiding it out and grabbing the ticket receipt before it fell.

It was for three weeks from now. A one-way ticket to some city in Italy, the city didn’t matter but the implications of it did. Bokuto never told him he was leaving.

Akaashi let out a growl from the back of his throat and crumpled the receipt beneath his fingers, before slamming his fist into the wall once. Twice. Thrice. Overcome by an anger that didn’t taste remotely familiar. He stomped into the living room, over to Bokuto’s pile, ignoring the warnings thrown from Kuroo in the kitchen and stopped in front of the couch, glaring down at the seemingly lifeless form.

“Why the fuck do you have a one-way ticket to Italy?”

Kuroo stopped whining and fell silent.

Bokuto looked scared, gaping at Akaashi like a fish, no doubt scrambling for an excuse in his mind but Akaashi was having none of it.

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Bokuto.”

Bokuto sniffled and trembled slightly. “I know. I’m the worst. I’m a pathetic excuse for a human being. I don’t deserve to be alive. You should just leave me. I’m a piece of shit that doesn’t deserve you or Kuroo or anything. I don’t deserve anything. I don’t deserve anything. I don’t deserve anything. I don’t deserve anything. I don’t…” Bokuto trailed off into a sob, clenching at his wilted hair and squeezing his eyes shut.

Akaashi scoffed at him but his chest burned with guilt at the crumpled form in front of him. He wanted to comfort Bokuto and hold him tight and make him feel better, and yet- “So what?” He yelled, “You were just going to put off telling me about this? Until when? A week before you leave? A day? You were going to wait and break my heart just because of your own patheticness? The world doesn’t revolve around you, Koutarou. Your poor feelings aren’t the only things that matter to people.” He stopped, took a deep breath, charged toward the door, stopping just at the threshold. “Even if they matter to me.” Akaashi took his leave.

He felt an uncontrollable amount of guilt and anger hitting him and coursing through his blood stream as he stumbled along the hallway, holding onto the wall for support before eventually giving in and falling to the rough floor, carpet burn stinging his legs. It was then that he realized, in a twisted sort of way, that he _did_ love Bokuto. He didn’t see it coming, but it hurt too much to be a likeness. It hurt way too much.

 

Akaashi wishes he could say that’s the last time he ever spoke to Bokuto, but no. He got a text three days later asking if they were still together. He responded with a simple ‘ _You tell me.’_

On a night he was feeling particularly mopey, Kozume pushed him out of his apartment with some cash and a request for shoyu ramen from the corner store. Akaashi reluctantly followed through, body limp from the warm night air. He didn’t look at the moon, favoring the view of his sneakers instead. Weeds broke through the cracks in the sidewalk, working in perfect juxtaposition to the crushed beer cans littering the concrete.

 

“Keiji?”

 

Akaashi shook his head. That sounded like Bokuto but he really hoped it wasn’t. Denial, he supposed, was a man’s best friend.

 

“Keiji!” No, there was no mistaking that excited shout. He looked up. Bad call. Bokuto was stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, a plastic bag hanging precariously off one finger. A lazy, bewildered smile hanging off his lips.

 

No.

 

“I- I didn’t think I’d see you out at this hour. You should be asleep!” Bokuto stepped forward. Akaashi stepped back. “I was on my way home. Just had to pick up some soda, you know? I don’t like alcohol. It’s too bitter for me. I like my beverages sweet! The sweeter the better. That must be why I took such a likening to you, Keiji. Haha.”

 

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Akaashi’s chest burned. His eyes stung. His fists clenched.

“I’ve been meaning to call you, you know. I made a new piece I think you’ll really like. Played with some pointillism. It’s super cool.  I thought my teacher might not want me to experiment too much, you know how she gets, but I knew you’d be proud of me. You like pointillism, don’t you? You love Paul Signac, that’s for sure. And you love…  you might even still love-”

 

“Bokuto, please stop talking.”

 

His mouth snapped shut. He wasn’t looking at Akaashi anymore, and a drop of something gleamed in the streetlight. Akaashi bit his tongue, trying not to give into tears himself. He couldn’t. Not here.

 

He felt like throwing up.

 

“Bokuto I-” He swallows. “I can’t just- I can’t do this right now.”

 

Akaashi turned and ran the opposite direction, ignoring the wailing shout from behind him. He ran all the way back to Kozume’s apartment, through the door, and up the stairs. He didn’t stop to think until he reached the top, starving for air. He didn’t realize he was crying until he couldn’t stop.

 

A month later, Kuroo called him to announce he was taking Bokuto to the airport and asked if Akaashi wanted to stop at the apartment just to say goodbye.

 

He didn’t.

 

It was only the day after that Akaashi fell into the deep bottomless pit that was his depression. Kozume comforted him for a week or two but eventually gave up on trying to pull him out of it. He was too far gone.

 

After all, it was the day he last saw Bokuto that he started to erode away, the damage becoming noticeable after a month.

 

The only way to seemingly be happy again was to learn to live in a world without him. Not the same world before Bokuto, that’s gone forever. No, Akaashi needed to learn to live with the aftermath. The rubble of a hurricane of memories stuffed into each corner of his brain.

 

Akaashi needed to learn to live on.

 

And with Lev’s words pumping through his head almost as loud as his own heartbeat, he closes his eyes and tells himself it doesn’t matter if Bokuto’s back, that he’s better off without him, that the longing aching in his chest can be ignored. Akaashi feels the sunshine pressed up against his cheek and seeping into his smile as he grins at Lev and tells him, “No. I won’t be seeing him during his visit.” And promptly closes the door on the tall boy’s face.

 

He leans his back against the door and closes his eyes with a smile still dancing across his lips. He did it. He rejected him.

 

Akaashi feels _proud_.

 

Well, he feels proud for about two minutes until he lifts his phone angrily to his ear and demands, “What do you want, Kuroo.”

 

The man laughs into the receiver, “Look who’s acting feisty today. Haven’t seen this side of you in months.” Before Akaashi can yell at him he covers his ass by saying, “It’s good. I like seeing you’re a little less exhausted. But regardless, I’ve got some bad news.”

 

“Bokuto, right. He would come to you first.”

 

“So you’ve heard? Yeah, he’s camping outside of my door because I told him to go away and shove his apologies where the sun don’t shine.”

 

Akaashi chuckles a little, “Thank you. How did he respond?”

  
“I didn’t give him a chance to talk or explain himself or say whatever the hell he thinks he needs to in order to crash at my apartment. I wouldn’t betray you like that, or myself. Hey, are you sure you’re alright? I would think that you’d be even more crappy with him in your general proximity, but you actually sound like yourself.”

 

He worries his lip, “I guess… I can finally get closure? Maybe I should meet up with him, after all.”

 

“Well, you know where to find him. I don’t think he’s planning on leaving until he gets to talk to me or I send Kenma out there to beat his ass. Just try to get here before then.”

 

“Alright.” Akaashi nods to himself, “Alright, I’ll be there in a few. Bye, Kuroo.”

 

“Good luck, Akaashi.”

 

And then silence. Akaashi lowered his phone and tried to ignore the fluttering feeling lodged deep in his stomach. He couldn’t pretend to not be excited to see Bokuto. Which wasn’t a good way to go into this.

 

He trusts himself enough, though.

 

It’s a good thing he does, especially when he catches sight of a pouting Bokuto slumped against Kuroo’s door, looking positively adorable and _be strong Akaashi you’re hear to tell him off not admire how a grown man can be so cute and obnoxious at the same time._

Bokuto raises his head and his gaze is piercing, tilting his head to look at Akaashi with a curious glint in his dull brown eyes. His hair isn’t gelled up like it usually is, the white streaked black strands lying flat against his head like a dying flower. Bokuto himself doesn’t look as excited as Akaashi imagined he would be, instead just thoughtful.

 

Watchful.

 

Careful.

 

Akaashi smiles softly, if only to do anything but stare at Bokuto’s face. Within the few months that he’s been gone he appears like an entirely different person. The stark differences seem even more prevalent with every step Akaashi takes. He’s lost weight. His eyes don’t shine like they used to. Akaashi even notices, with an odd sense of disappointment, that he doesn’t smell like cinnamon. Just smoke. Way too much cigarette smoke.

 

“Bokuto.”

He says at last, words coming out less confident than he wanted them to. Koutarou looks bad. Worse than he has ever seen him.

 

“Akaashi.”

He sounds even worse, and he coughs when he says, “I didn’t want you to see me like this, a hot mess in cool clothing. I wanted to make myself look appealing again. Shower maybe.” He laughs weakly.

 

Akaashi nods, “If we’re going to breakfast you’re probably going to have to clean up.”

 

He hates the way Bokuto dares to look hopeful of what that could imply.

 

With countless pleads and negotiations Akaashi’s definitely going to regret later, Kuroo is convinced to let Bokuto in for long enough to shower and manages to pin Akaashi down so they can have a much needed conversation about what Akaashi’s planning on doing. He doesn’t know. He’s making it up as he goes along. But, he makes sure Kuroo understands, he has no intentions of letting Bokuto get his way. That train (or rather plane) has already left the station.

 

Kuroo trusts him well enough, and when Bokuto hops out of the shower with his usual spiky hair (no doubt having used most of Kuroo’s hair gel) and a silly grin plastered on his face he sends Akaashi off with a sharp nod and a pat on the back, refusing to acknowledge Bokuto’s presence.

 

Akaashi somehow finds himself instinctively on the route to Lev’s cafe. Maybe it’s the familiar presence of Bokuto, or maybe it’s simply just the first thing that popped into his head when trying to discern the safest place to officially break up with Bokuto. It’s the only way he seems himself getting over this.

 

Closure. His mind keeps coming back to those seven letters. The idea of finally having closure with Bokuto is almost too good to be true.

 

There might be something sentimental about ending things where they, in a sense, started. There’s something sentimental about this entire situation. Bokuto settles on his typical chocolate caramel latte. Akaashi gets his typical black coffee. It all seems too typical, not any of the tension or anticipation Akaashi imagined.

 

They sit down, and before Akaashi can get into his spiel of reasons for why he needs to let him go, Bokuto launches into a story about some church in Italy he got kicked out of. Akaashi nods along, taking the occasional sip of scalding hot coffee and not actually following the story whatsoever. He finds himself getting anxious, his finger tapping against the table too quickly to be following the beat of the soft indie music spilling from the speakers lining the cafe’s walls. He looks out towards the counter, catching the eye of Lev.

 

To Akaashi’s surprise, Lev somehow understands the discomfort coursing through him and sends Akaashi a big smile. It doesn’t take long before he’s by the couple’s side, forcefully cutting Bokuto off with a loud: “Is everything going well?”

 

Bokuto’s grin falters as he affirms that the last five minutes they’ve been drinking coffee has gone without incident. Lev is still standing there, staring wide eyed at Akaashi as if pleading for him to give any clues to where to go from here. Akaashi subtly shrugs and points his gaze back to the counter. Lev gets the hint and leaves the table.

 

Bokuto takes a prolonged drink of his latte and looks over at Akaashi curiously, almost like he’s daring him to speak first.

 

And so he does.

 

“Bokuto, I didn’t invite you out today to reconcile. I hope you understand that I’m not exactly ready to forgive you, and if you genuinely thought that’s where this conversation was going, you’ve obviously not changed since I last saw you.”

 

Bokuto bites his lip. “Well, I was hoping-”

 

“No, I’m sorry. I’m talking right now. You’re going to have to wait your turn.”

 

The other man’s eyes widen and he chuckles a little out of disbelief, “Always full of surprises. I’m all ears, Akaashi.”

 

Akaashi takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes. Counts to five. “As I was saying, today I didn’t come to hear explanations or excuses of any kind. Today I want to find closure. If you weren’t aware, these past months have been ridiculously hard on me. So you can imagine I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the prospect of seeing you again. Initially.” That might have been an understatement. Akaashi couldn’t even hear Bokuto’s name without losing his cool, but Bokuto doesn’t need to know that. “I’ve never fallen in love before I met you, and definitely not that quickly. It, you, hit me like a hurricane and I wasn’t ready for the repercussions of giving into your ways, that aura around you of confidence and recklessness, one I wasn’t aware until recently was a complete facade. I don’t know your past or whatever made you feel like it was okay to do selfish things like what you did to me and Kuroo, not to mention I imagine countless others, but tell me if it’s ever worth it. You’re back now, after all. Is it worth it to see the wreckage of your mistakes?”

 

There’s silence. Bokuto gapes at him and shrinks back in his seat, staring at his latte like it personally offended him.  

 

“You can talk now.” Akaasi adds, just to be a little smug. It’s worth it to see the usual look of surprise Bokuto sends his way.

 

“Damn, okay. That was a lot. Damn.” Bokuto laughs humorlessly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, “Alright, so. First off, I’m sorry. I didn’t even know my disappearance would affect you like that. I always thought you’d move on but maybe that was something to do with the fact that _I_ always found it easy to move on. I mean, I did before I met you.”

He glances up to see what weight those words carried. Akaashi made sure he understood that they held none. “Admittedly, when I first saw you I thought you’d just be a little fun. My time here was never supposed to last long. Then you showed up, wouldn’t stop staring at me, and I thought ‘Hey, he’s hot, and into me!’ What I didn’t count on, shit. I didn’t count on you being perfect.” He grins to himself, “Funny, beautiful, kind, caring. You deserved more than a one night stand. Keiji-” Akaashi flinches at his first name. “-You deserved the universe. You became so much more to me. You became my sun, the reason I could live. And that scared the hell out of me.”

 

Akaashi couldn’t help the familiar effects of Bokuto’s compliments. He was always weak to the way he could effortlessly praise him without even a glimpse of embarrassment. The warm feeling flooding Akaashi’s chest made him feel sick.

 

“So I ran. Like the fucking coward I am, I packed my bags and figured out a way to Italy. And when you found out it hurt like someone was ripping my heart out of my chest, because I loved you. I loved you like I’d never loved anything before. And after a few months in Italy with your face in the forefront of my mind I realized that running away wasn’t going to solve anything. I need you. I can’t exist without you. I never thought that I could find anything worth staying in one place for, and then you came along.

 

“I’m not asking for you to forgive me straight away. Take all the time you need, just... Keiji. Give me a chance. Cause me and you, babe, we’re celestial.”

 

Akaashi gives him a long look.

 

“No.”

 

And with that, he stands, waves at Lev and exits the cafe.

 

With that, he eliminates any possibilities of restrictions or regret. Anything that could tie him down and disappoint the cosmos and tie a obedient noose around his neck.

 

With one word he makes sure that his life won't be wasted chasing someone who can never be completely his.

 

With a simple negative, he masters the art of deciding to forget and moves on to try to chase the day in front of him, never spending a minute waiting for the moon.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay!!! I have been working on this piece for months and now I'm finally throwing it online. I really hope you guys enjoyed it, as I had a blast working on it. Truly.
> 
> Special thanks to Lydia for helping edit this piece and special SPECIAL thanks to my friend Piper who, despite not being a weeb, tolerated my incessant ramblings every morning before school and through texts at midnight. You're patience never fails to impress me, and this piece would have been worthless without you.
> 
> And thank YOU for reading! As cheesy as it sounds, the fact that people are actually reading what I create keeps me going.


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